


on the truths of memory

by joanofarcstan



Series: Tolkien Gen Week 2020 [5]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Character Study, Cultural Differences, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Sort Of, They deserved better, Tolkien Gen Week - Freeform, again this is the silm, and we love suffering, inspired by that one fic where edrahil’s an avari elf and i cannot remember it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:15:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25190755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joanofarcstan/pseuds/joanofarcstan
Summary: You do not have to understand a truth for it to be a truth, Finrod thinks.Or, a few glimpses into Finrod and Edrahil’s friendship, and how Finrod learned this truth.
Relationships: Edrahil & Finrod Felagund | Findaráto
Series: Tolkien Gen Week 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1818994
Comments: 7
Kudos: 11
Collections: Tolkien Gen Week 2020





	on the truths of memory

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [dear fellow traveler](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20391691) by [RaisingCaiin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaisingCaiin/pseuds/RaisingCaiin). 



**I. The Sea**

Water remembers. This Finrod learns when the Sea rises in her might before him, barring him from even looking West for the crimes of his Ñoldorin kin on his Telerin kin. It is strange to be caught between two peoples, one the wrongdoer and one the wronged, and maybe he thinks it a little unfair that he is counted among the wrongdoers, but he remembers that he made that choice himself, and so turns away from the Sea.

(He wonders if his mother looks out to this same sea sometimes from the shores where her people were slain, and thinks of him. But he has wronged her, and knows not if she still counts him among her own.)

'Beyond this is the homeland of your people?' Edrahil asks his Avarin dialect-accented Sindarin, standing shoulder to shoulder with Finrod, who nods.

'Yes,' he says in his Quenya-accented Sindarin. 'And no. It is the land of my youth, but I shall never see it again except in memory. This—' he indicates the trees and rivers around them '—is my homeland now.' It is both bitter and sweet.

Edrahil puts a hand on his shoulder. 'You will see it again, for this land is not quite for you,' he says, and his voice is so sure that Finrod believes him.

'How do you know?' he asks later, knowing that Edrahil will know what he is talking about.

Edrahil only smiles over his shoulder at Finrod. 'My people have their wisdom,' he answers, and that is the end of that.

**II. Sudden Flame**

Fire remembers. This Finrod learns when fire takes his brothers just as it took Fëanor, and he is reminded of it when he meets his cousin in the Halls, sent by the same enchanted flame. When it takes his brothers, a wave of terrible foreboding comes on him, and for a moment he sees through their eyes fire so bright, so hot that all memory of the trees and the Ice is erased, and it laughs at his horror.

( _I have been a fire greater than the Spirit of Fire himself. What makes you think you can stand against me?_ it demands. And then the vision is gone as suddenly as it arrived, leaving Finrod on his knees, smoke still curling from unburned fingertips, and that is how he knows it was real.)

Edrahil finds him like that, on the ground and staring at his hands with incomprehension, the thundering of his heartbeat in his ears louder than the rush of Sirion outside. And somehow, Edrahil knows. 'This fire is not for you,' he says, kneeling before Finrod and taking his hands—still too hot, still burning—in his own.

Finrod drags his eyes up to meet Edrahil's gaze, kind and understanding and everything that hurts so badly right now, and whispers with a grief too raw for tears, 'How do you know?'

But Edrahil only shakes his head and opens his arms. 'There are some things we understand without knowing, my friend,' he answers in a soft voice.

And Finrod falls into his friend's embrace and weeps, unashamed. And then he stands, and marches to war, and swears an oath that will cost him his life, and still it does not hold back the fire that consumed Fëanor and now craves more.

**III. Finale**

Stone remembers. This Finrod learns when he languishes in Sauron's prison and presses the palms of his bound hands to the walls, and the stone answers. _I remember the hands that pieced me together and the voice that sang me to strength,_ it tells him in a voice no one else hears, _but I cannot do more than this._ And he thinks faintly in reply, _Then remember. Remember me and my companions, and that will be enough._

(And the stone does remember. He knows because he returns to Beleriand, marching to war by his father's side, and sees fair, green Tol Sirion again. He puts his palm to the side of the tower, and the stone sings.)

Somewhere near him, Edrahil speaks. 'I see it now,' he says. 'You were not for the fire, or wind, or water, or trees. You were for the stone that stands steady and sings to the others.'

'How do you know these things?' Finrod asks quietly. These are their last moments together, and this has become a sort of ritual for them through centuries—both long and short in the eyes of the Elves—of friendship.

Even in the darkness, he can hear the slight smile in Edrahil's voice. 'We are not like you,' he answers, and Finrod knows that when he says we he means his own people. 'We awoke beneath the stars without the name of their creator on our lips. We know no Varda, but we know the paths that are written in the stars. We accept that there is understanding without knowing, as your people say that there is belief without understanding.

'We understand the leaves that rustle, the brooks that laugh, the winds that whisper, and the fire that brings rebirth. We have no words for what they say, but we understand. And then there is you—' and the smile grows more pronounced, a light in this tower where darkness reigns '—who were made to smile, but not for it to die; to weep, but not for it to consume you; to explore, but always to hear your homeland's call; to love fiercely, but not destructively; and that is how I understand you.'

And Finrod does not understand without knowing, but Edrahil does, and that is enough. 'I still do not understand,' he says. 'But you do, and I thank you for sharing it with me.'

He can practically hear Edrahil shake his head. 'Here, it is difficult. But in my homeland, far to the east, it is easier.' A pause. 'I would have liked to return there, to my people.'

'I would have liked to see it and meet your folk.'

'There would have been great love between you.'

'It is a pity, then, that I never went with you.'

There is nothing more to say then. Finrod knows that Edrahil's folk recognise not Mandos as their lord in death; but believe—no, they know for themselves the way the Ñoldor know of Mandos’ Halls—that they will return to the land, in the trees and waters and winds. _It is a cycle,_ Edrahil has told him. _It always comes full circle._

(Except there is more to say, for after the War of Wrath, Finrod says farewell to his kin once more—his father understands, and assures him that his mother will too, for they have both always felt the bonds of love just as strongly—and heads for lands far to the east.)

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! comments are always welcome here or on my tumblr @[laurierliberal](%E2%80%9C)!


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